Bed Rest
by Gary Merchant
Summary: Romana finds herself acting as nursemaid when the Doctor falls ill.


BED REST

The Doctor looked up at her as she studied the readings. "It's just as I thought," she sighed.

He hated it when she skirted around the issue. It wasn't like her, and it always meant the worst. "Well, don't keep me in suspense, Romana," he said. "What's the verdict?"

She seemed anxious. "You won't like it." Romana examined the data a second time. But there was no denying it. "Sorry, Doctor – you've come down with a cold." She placed the thermometer back inside the medikit box.

"A cold?" He could hardly believe it. "But I've been A1 and fighting fit for millennia. How could I possibly have caught a cold?" Then he brought a handkerchief up to his nose to stifle a sneeze. A loud one.

Romana fluffed up his pillows and straightened the sheets as he lay in his bed. "Well, I did warn you. You had been overdoing it – even K9 noticed. And you've let yourself get run-down and irritable." She caught the accusing look in his eye. "Well, more irritable than normal. Now, you'll just have to stay in bed and rest."

"Rest?" The Doctor was indignant. "Romana, I don't need to be cosseted and fussed over like some sick puppy." He tried to get up, but for once his usual boundless energy had deserted him.

Romana gently forced him back. "Doctor, I know this is hard for you to accept, but you are not exactly in the best of health right now. You've been complaining of aches and pains for over a week, and now it's all caught up with you. You're losing your voice and running a temperature. All the classic symptoms, I'm afraid. Now, sit up and drink your medicine."

"What, that?" he grumbled. "It tastes horrible."

"Anything that's good for you usually is," she noted, as she poured out a teaspoonful. "Come on, open wide."

"Now, look here, Ro – glurk!" The linctus was inside his throat before he realised, its sour taste making him shiver with disgust. "Anyone who prescribes that as a health remedy should be struck off."

Romana smiled as she replaced the cap to the medicine bottle. "Do you want anything to eat?"

"No thank you." The Doctor sank down under the bedclothes, leaving Romana to head toward the door, her nursing duties over for the time being. "Romana?" She turned, having half-expected this. "I suppose I could manage some soup – if it's no trouble?"

"Of course, Doctor," she promised. "Thick Vegetable soup, just the way you like it."

"Oh, good. And perhaps some bread and butter. And a hot mug of tea. But only if it's no trouble."

"No. No trouble at all, Doctor." Her smile seemed a trifle forced, as a wheezing cough was heard under the bedclothes.

As Romana closed the door behind her, she offered up a silent prayer for the Doctor's speedy recovery. Daleks, Nimon or even Mandrells she could cope with. But playing nursemaid to an unwell Time Lord, laid up with a streaming cold, was, she felt, taking things beyond the reasonable bounds of duty.

K9 trundled up to her. "The Doctor-Master is receiving treatment, Mistress?"

"Oh yes, K9," she replied. "But I'm beginning to think that I might need some treatment of my own when this is over."

Almost two weeks later, and Romana felt as though she were being run ragged. Despite being confined to bed, it seemed like every five minutes the Doctor was calling for something or other. K9 did what he could, but Romana beginning to feel less like a Time Lady and more like an unpaid skivvy. "Honestly, K9," she moaned, "I'm not sure how much longer I can cope. The Doctor's bad enough when he's fit and well, but this is far worse."

K9 was busy searching through his databank, comparing all known variables on the common cold. "His temperature is now at normal parameters," he intoned. "But the Doctor-Master insists that he is still unwell. The facts do not seem to match, Mistress."

"Are you suggesting that the Doctor is malingering?" Romana asked. "I mean really, that's not like him at all." Even so, there was a nagging doubt at the back of her mind.

"There is an Earth phrasing of words which would seem to bear this out, Mistress," said K9. "Print-out of phrase and meaning now being processed." Romana waited as the paper display appeared from K9's print facility. As she read the short paragraph, Romana began to grow ever more suspicious.

The Doctor was sat up in bed, with two pillows supporting his back. He was just polishing off the last of the grapes and watching the latest re-run of Galactic Blankety-Blank. "Good old Terry," he grinned. "A classic quiz show of its time." His cold had passed some time ago. Obviously he would tell Romana – eventually. But it wouldn't hurt to be waited on for just a little longer.

He quickly switched the television off as he heard Romana's footfalls approaching. The door swung open and she stood there with a tray in her hands, its contents covered with a cloth. "How are you feeling, Doctor?" she asked.

"Oh, getting by, you know," he said, coughing for added effect. He eyed the tray with interest. "What's this, more food and drink for the weary patient?"

"Not exactly." She set the tray down on the bedside table. "You've been in that bed for quite some time."

"Well, I couldn't very well walk about the TARDIS, spreading my germs about the place."

"No, I suppose not." She reached out and threw the bedclothes back. "Even so, you need freshening up. That's why I'm going to give you a bed bath."

"What?" He tried to pull the bedclothes back over his nightshirt. "Now Romana, that isn't really necessary."

"But I think it is." She prised the sheets from his fingers and pulled them back. Then she removed the cloth from the tray, revealing a bowl of water and a flannel. Before he could protest, the flannel smothered the Doctor's face, as Romana proceeded to wash and scrub every orifice. Then he was dried with a rough towel. "Right, pull up your nightshirt, Doctor, and no more arguments. You won't have anything there I haven't seen before."

He was shocked at her directness, but he reluctantly did as he was told. She looked down at him. "Hmm. Well, I've seen worse."

The Doctor was too dumbstruck to reply, as Romana reached for the bowl of water – and emptied its contents over his naked torso, forcing the Doctor to vacate the now soaking bed. "Romana, this is beyond a joke!"

"Oh, I haven't finished yet, Doctor." She produced a length of rubber tubing. "It's time for your colonic irrigation." She advanced menacingly toward him as he backed away nervously. "It's all for your own good."

His eyes bulged at the thought of what she might do to him. Seeking escape, he dodged past her, leaping over the bed, and ran the length of the TARDIS corridor until he met up with K9. "K9, Romana's on the warpath, and I need somewhere to hide."

The metal dog led the Doctor into the nearby bathroom. "Conceal yourself inside the shower unit, Master," he suggested. "I shall stand guard."

"Good dog," the Doctor said approvingly. He stepped inside the cubicle; with the unit encased in frosted glass, it seemed to be the perfect hiding place. He could hear K9 whirring about outside, which was reassuring. Then he heard the automatic water jets of the shower start up around him, which was not at all reassuring. He pushed at the cubicle door, but it was sealed shut. "K9, let me out. I'm getting wet."

The force of the cold water was now increasing beyond usual tolerance levels, pummelling his body. He tried to parry some of the water away from him, but he was now being attacked from all directions, unable to escape. "K9!" There was no reply. Only the relentless power of the water against his skin, invading his every pore.

Eventually, the strength of the water lessened, and the Doctor was able to take a breath. The door of the cubicle unlocked, swinging open to reveal Romana and K9, the Time Lady glaring at the Doctor, her arms folded. "Had enough?"

The Doctor opened and closed his mouth, but no sound came out. He stood there, dripping wet, shamefaced and embarrassed.

When he finally returned to the console room fully dressed, Romana was waiting for him. "There was no need for all that, you know," he said. "I was going to get up anyway."

"Oh, really?" She was not convinced, and he couldn't really blame her. "I've been running around for you, with little or no thanks, and all this time you've been… what was that phrase, K9?"

"'Swinging the lead', Mistress," he dutifully replied.

"Exactly! You took unfair advantage of my caring nature, Doctor. I won't easily forget that."

"Yes, well…" There really was no justification for the Doctor's actions. "I suppose I just got used to being ill. I didn't have to worry about saving the universe for a change. Instead I just let things take their course. After all, I don't often get the chance to…"

"Swing the lead."

"Yes. No! Romana, you're twisting my words."

"Well, you started it," she muttered. "I haven't had a minute to myself in weeks."

"Ah." The Doctor realised how much he had taken Romana for granted recently. Could he make it up to her? He would certainly try. "Perhaps we both need a holiday," he suggested. "We've both been stuck inside the TARDIS for a while. A change of scenery would be just the ticket."

"A holiday?" She seemed interested in the idea, if a little dubious. "Where, exactly?"

He waved her toward the console. "I'll leave the choice entirely up to you, Romana. Anything you want, you can have. My treat."

After a moment's consideration, Romana activated the console, resetting coordinates for their next journey. She seemed to take great delight in selecting their destination. The Doctor peered over her shoulder. "Really? You want to go _there_?"

"And why not? Anything wrong?"

"No, no. That's fine," he quickly replied. Actually he was secretly pleased with her choice. The ideal place for a few days rest and relaxation. A time to take stock and enjoy the most wonderful place in the whole universe.

After all, what could possibly happen in Paris…?


End file.
